


A Most Unmannerly Werewolf

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Wooster is somewhat annoyed with Tybalt the werewolf for snatching his electromagnetic staff.  He doesn't expect von Blitzengaard to use that as an excuse to make them fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Unmannerly Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> This sprang partly from a conversation with persephone_kore on LiveJournal, and partly from reading some fiction by Wolf Baginski via Twitter. It was the latter who reminded me of the trick with the silk scarf, which I knew about but had forgotten; and, since I've already made Mr Wooster part Indian in my personal fanon, I had to have him use it at some point. Thank you to both!

“Excuse me one moment, Tybalt,” said Mr Wooster. Agatha caught Violetta's eye and grinned. They both knew that, when Mr Wooster used _that_ voice, things were about to get interesting. Violetta always referred to it as “weapons-grade politeness”.

“What do you want?” asked the werewolf. He didn't sound altogether unfriendly, but he did look a little bemused.

“I refer to the small matter of the electromagnetic staff which you grabbed from my hands a little earlier,” Mr Wooster explained. “Without, I might add, so much as a by-your-leave. While I applaud your willingness to help to trap the engine, did it not occur to you that Lady Heterodyne might have given me that staff for a reason?”

“I don't see what your problem is,” replied Tybalt. “There were only so many of them. Someone had to use them, and it didn't make any difference whether it was you or me, did it?”

“If you thought that, why would you have taken it?” asked Mr Wooster. “Very bluntly, the less able fighters should have been running off to the sides with the electromagnetic staves, while those who were more able should have been at the front defending their leaders. While I did stand my ground, and I would have been prepared to defend Lady Heterodyne with my life if it had come to it, I doubt I am as good a fighter as a werewolf.”

Von Blitzengaard turned to face them. “But you're a brave one,” he observed, thoughtfully. “And you're not stupid, either, which is where you do have the advantage over Tybalt.”

Agatha put her hands on her hips. “What's going through your head, Martellus? Because, just in case I need to remind you, he's working with _me_ right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn't deprive you of his invaluable service; I've seen for myself how loyal he is,” replied von Blitzengaard. “But I _would_ like to see these two fight. It would be most... educational.”

“What?!” said Violetta. “You've lost it, Cousin Martellus. You know perfectly well what would happen. Wooster would get ripped to shreds.” She narrowed her eyes. “And if _that_ happens, I'm giving you one warning to watch your back, and it's this one. He's our friend.”

“Oh, calm yourself, dear cousin,” said von Blitzengaard. “Honestly! I don't intend that there should be any permanent damage; you haven't yet heard what sort of a fight I am suggesting.”

Mr Wooster gave von Blitzengaard a look which strongly indicated that he would be quite happy to go up against him in person, never mind his werewolf. “Your Majesty, I have nothing against Tybalt apart from his boorish manners, and those are not a reason for fisticuffs,” he said, stiffly.

“I do wish you would all listen,” said von Blitzengaard. “You are all quite correct in assuming that a werewolf has physical advantages over almost any human; Tybalt is certainly the stronger and faster of the two, although, having seen your Mr Wooster draw a gun, I wouldn't swear Tybalt had the quicker reflexes. However, physical advantages are not everything. Therefore, what I am suggesting is this. Tybalt should fight unarmed, since he needs no weapons; Mr Wooster may choose any weapons he wishes, other than spark technology.”

“Which immediately rules out my gun, Your Majesty,” Mr Wooster pointed out, with a hint of an edge to his voice.

“But not all guns, and I am sure there are plenty here, should you want one,” replied von Blitzengaard. “Moreover, I do not propose to limit the number of weapons you may use. Also, since you can both move fast, I suggest marking out a predetermined area in which the fight should take place; any combatant leaving that area will be deemed to have lost the fight.”

“Ah,” said Mr Wooster, thoughtfully. “And how are we planning to mark it out? Fences? Ropes?”

“A line on the ground will be perfectly adequate,” replied von Blitzengaard. “Agatha and I should be able to act as joint referees.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “I am not being dragged into that. It'll end up with you and me having a massive argument, and it's not like we don't have enough to argue about without something like that. We ought to ask one of the monks to do it, if we're going to do this at all.”

“Fight,” said Tybalt, happily.

“Oh, I really think we should do it,” said von Blitzengaard. “But if you prefer it that way, dear Agatha, of course we can ask a monk...”

“I am _not_ your 'dear Agatha'!” Agatha snapped. “So you can just get that idea _right_ out of your head. And then give it a decent burial, if you've got any sense.”

“Ah. Er. Yes,” said von Blitzengaard hastily, no doubt recalling the sensation of Agatha's very solid and well-trained knee colliding sharply with some highly sensitive parts of his anatomy. “Then, er, naturally, we had better speak to one of the monks...”

“Wooster hasn't agreed to fight yet,” Violetta pointed out.

Mr Wooster gave a sudden, unexpected, schoolboyish grin. “Haven't I? Dear me. Then I had better state categorically that I do agree.”

“I thought you'd see it my way,” said von Blitzengaard majestically. “After all, it would have been most unsporting of you to back out, and since you're British...”

Mr Wooster twitched an eyebrow at him. “I might add that I don't particularly appreciate being manoeuvred, Your Majesty. However, since your werewolf seems so enthusiastic about the idea, I should hate to disappoint him.”

Agatha sighed. “I really hope you know what you're doing, Mr Wooster.”

“I have a reasonable idea, Lady Heterodyne,” he assured her. “And, if you will excuse me for a moment or two, I am going to go and provide myself with weapons.”

He was away for a little while. During this time, Violetta and Zeetha chalked a large rectangle on the ground to serve as the fighting arena; Agatha persuaded the nearest monk to act as referee; and Tybalt changed into his wolf form, ready for the action, and wandered round with his tongue hanging out until von Blitzengaard lost his temper with him. When Mr Wooster returned, Tybalt bounded into the middle of the chalked rectangle and let out a howl of defiance.

“Jolly good,” said Mr Wooster. He glanced round the others. “Does the fight begin the moment I enter the arena, or will the referee – thank you, Brother – will the referee be giving some form of signal?”

“It begins the moment you enter the arena,” replied von Blitzengaard.

“And watch yourself, Wooster,” Violetta warned. “He's been working himself up like a berserker.”

“Yeah... I can't help noticing you're not actually carrying any visible weapons,” said Agatha. “I know you're good at hiding things, but... well, whatever you've got, I hope it's good.”

He shrugged. “We shall see.” And, with that, he stepped into the arena.

Tybalt charged, a blur of dark fur with deadly claws and teeth. Mr Wooster, of course, had been expecting this; he sidestepped neatly at the last possible moment. “Is he armed at all?” asked Agatha, clutching Violetta's sleeve.

“He's got to be,” said Violetta, though she looked as worried as Agatha. “He wouldn't have taken all that time and then come back with nothing.”

“That's neat movement,” said Zeetha. “Scientific. He's letting Tybalt do all the work. I like. He'd be pretty good, with a bit more training.”

“Oh, look,” said Violetta. “He _has_ got something. But what is it?”

Mr Wooster, indeed, was taking something swiftly out of his pocket. As the werewolf charged again, he held the object up for him to see...

...and then hurled it out of the arena. Tybalt immediately pelted after it.

“No!” yelled von Blitzengaard. “Stop! Tybalt! I command you! You're going to lose the fight... oh, blast. Too late.”

“Sir Tybalt has left the arena and therefore forfeits the fight,” said the monk who was refereeing.

Tybalt charged back into the arena with something in his mouth. “You! Dirty tricks!” he roared, indistinctly.

“Stop him, Martellus!” shouted Agatha. “The fight's over. Don't let him hurt Mr Wooster!”

“I don't think he's in any state to listen to me,” von Blitzengaard admitted.

“You...” Agatha began, furiously.

“No, seriously, Agatha,” said Zeetha. “Watch Wooster. This is good.”

Something purple flicked out of Mr Wooster's sleeve and wrapped itself tightly about the werewolf's neck. Tybalt stopped trying to claw at Mr Wooster; instead, his paws flew in panic to his throat.

“You lost the fight,” said Mr Wooster, calmly. “If you had kept your head, you'd realise we're now at stalemate. The best thing you can do at this moment is transform back to human shape. Your human neck is rather thinner than your wolf neck, so the garotte won't be so tight. Once you do that, I'll let you go.”

Sulkily, but obediently, Tybalt transformed. Mr Wooster unwound the purple thing and tucked it away into one of his waistcoat pockets, while Tybalt rather uncomfortably took from his mouth the thing he had been gnawing on, since it was now too large for his human jaws. Agatha laughed when she saw what it was.

“Sweet lightning,” she said. “It's a piece of sausage!”

Mr Wooster stepped out of the arena, made some very slight adjustments to his clothing (which, really, was hardly even rumpled), and bowed. Tybalt followed him sulkily, still eating sausage. Von Blitzengaard's face was a study.

“I really didn't think Tybalt could be defeated quite so easily,” he said.

Mr Wooster took the purple thing out of his pocket; now that he was closer, they could all see that it was a silk scarf. He untied one end, removed a small iron weight from it, and smoothed it out. “Excuse me,” he said. “Now that the fight is concluded, I must go and find the lady who kindly lent me this and return it to her. That, I ought to say, was what took me so long. It is astonishing how few of the rescued passengers were wearing silk scarves at the time.”

“Where did you learn that trick?” asked Zeetha, curiously.

“I'm a quarter Indian. Enough said, I believe.” He departed.

Von Blitzengaard glared at Tybalt. “You,” he said. “You let yourself be beaten by a lump of sausage and a silk scarf!”

“It's good sausage,” said Tybalt sullenly. “Schlognwurst. You never give me that.”

Zeetha grinned from ear to ear. “Hey, Martellus. I think the wurst has just come to the wurst.”

Von Blitzengaard had no answer to that.


End file.
